


I do not think of you lying in the wet clay

by Phiso



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Community: rs_games, F/M, M/M, Occasional shaky grasp of reality, Past Character Death, Present Tense, R/S Games 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phiso/pseuds/Phiso
Summary: R/S Games 2016 - Day 23 - Team PlaceThe dead do not reside in graveyards, they live in the places they used to love, and Remus cannot run away from their ghosts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Team:** Place  
>  **Title:** I do not think of you lying in the wet clay  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Warnings:** Mentions of canonical character death, depression, mild swearing, PoA alternate POV, present tense, occasional shaky grasp of reality  
>  **Genres:** Angst, Character Study  
>  **Word Count:** 11,000  
>  **Summary:** The dead do not reside in graveyards, they live in the places they used to love, and Remus cannot run away from their ghosts.  
>  **Notes:** This was only supposed to be 2k words, aha...Anyway, a thousand thank yous to T, M, and K, without whom I (and Remus) would be lost, and a MILLION thank yous to the Mods, for being so patient, encouraging, and understanding. Y'all the real MVPs.  
>  **Disclaimer:** The title of this comes from the poem, “In Memory Of My Mother” by Patrick Kavanagh  
>  **Prompt:** #13 - ["99h // Ireland" by Joshua Maciejok](https://vimeo.com/153804842)

Everything about Hogwarts reminds Remus of them.

The sound of the train whistle is sharp and high and breathy, achingly familiar and the fifteenth time he’s heard it. He’s already in his compartment, seated and leaning against the window, but he can hear everything going on outside the train. Footsteps slap on the stone platform, his own shoes struggling to catch up to a door and hop on, his face undoubtedly red from embarrassment and exertion. There are young boys laughing, reaching out - “You can do it!” - and there is the thrill of a leap and the fear of a fall and the relief of hands the same size as his gripping him tight to hold him up. There are two dark haired young men calling out windows, grinning and waving madly as they shout, “See you later, mum and dad!” The Potters, Fleamont and Euphemia, are out there, waving back, beaming. Remus knows this in his bones, even though they have both been dead for over a decade now.

His seat is firm and comfortable enough; there is a bit of a spring to it, and he bounces on it once to match twelve year old Sirius’s eager and endless bouncing. He closes his eyes and imagines the upholstery maroon, like when he was a student, not blue, like how it is now when he’s a professor, and curtains on the windows, instead of a shade to draw down. It’s not difficult. He draws his coat around himself as the wheels beneath him churn like an ocean, lulling him to sleep.

Remus hears low voices as he dozes off and the seat beside him dips; he recognizes a small noise as a rat squeak, and he wonders what James and Sirius plan to have Wormtail do this time. He hears his name, and James’s voice, and figures he can sneak in a quick nap before they drag him awake for their next great plan. His last thought before he’s completely out is of his prefect meeting: did he go already? Surely he has, there’s no way he would miss it, he wouldn’t be curled up here taking a nap if he hadn’t already gone…

A sudden lurch wakes him. Where is he? Multiple voices speak over each other, most of them unfamiliar, but there is one he recognizes. James? No, that’s not right. That wasn’t James speaking, he thinks as he opens his eyes, but this _is_ the Hogwarts Express, and it should never be this dark. He tells the voices to be quiet and produces a ball of flames for light, his body tense and ready for action. It’s an old habit he never lost, a side-effect from fighting in a war that never quite ended for him. There is a chill in the air that shouldn’t be, and as he moves forward to investigate the compartment door opens, his very blood freezing as he hears another familiar voice that he knows isn’t there.

“They’re in hiding, Remus, it defeats the purpose to tell you where. Why do you want to know so badly?”

“They’re my friends, Sirius, I just - ”

“Fuck, Remus, can’t you just trust me?”

Someone collapses, and Remus steps forward to face the dementor, drawing his wand.

“None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks,” Remus says clearly, knowing this is why they’re searching the train. “Go.”

But the dementor doesn’t move, and so Remus produces a wisp of a patronus. He could have cast a corporeal one, but he doesn’t want anyone to see its form, and anyway, it’s hard to think of a happy enough memory that isn’t accompanied by pain.

The lights turn back on soon after. The sight of James laying on the floor and a redheaded girl (Lily?) shaking in the corner of his eye knocks the wind out of him, and for a second he is convinced he’s having another nightmare. First Sirius’s voice, now this...It isn’t until two of the other students, a redheaded boy and a girl with brushy brown hair, start trying to wake the boy up that Remus realizes that no, this isn’t James at all. It’s Harry.

This knowledge somehow grounds Remus, which helps when Harry at last opens his eyes and reveals them to be a very familiar bottle green. Stunned, he can only watch as Harry’s friends, including Frank and Alice Longbottom’s boy, Neville, help him back onto his seat. Their conversation snaps him out of his daze, and he quickly rummages in his suitcase for a large bar of chocolate, just one of many he had brought with him, knowing dementors would be around throughout the school year. He divides it among the students before leaving, already mentally composing an owl for McGonagall. Dumbledore had warned him that Harry had a history of trouble following him, but Remus hadn’t expected it to start so soon.

His mission to speak to the driver distracts him, but his walk back to his compartment is filled with anticipation and dread. He’s not even at Hogwarts yet, and he’s already faced two things he’s been avoiding for years. As excited as he is to get to know Harry and as grateful as he is that he was able to protect him, he also knows that this was only a taste of the memories to come.

The remainder of the ride to Hogwarts is fairly quiet, and Remus resists the urge to stare at Harry, the spitting image of a face he never thought he’d see again. He takes a separate carriage up to the castle, and it’s jarring to see the thestrals pulling them. He remembers them being horseless, though as they ride up he also recalls Sirius muttering about them at the start of their third year. James joined Sirius when they were seventeen, pointing and stroking the air. The thestrals are dark and beautiful and frightening, and Remus tries to avoid thinking about why he can see them now. Instead, he focuses on the crunching of hooves on gravel, a stag rather than a thestral steadily making its way. This helps with the ice that has settled in his chest, a gift from the dementors guarding the castle entrance.

Remus sits with the other professors in the Great Hall, feeling like a child at the grown up table, but people have always said he was mature for his age, so he runs with it. He chats with professors he’s never met before and wonders vaguely how he and the others might’ve pranked them, once upon a time. He nods courteously at Severus Snape, who fixes him with a loathing glare so recognizable that Remus has to look down at his robes to make sure he’s not still a student. He resolves in that moment to call him Severus as a gesture as a goodwill, but also because he knows Snape will hate it.

Remus barely registers the unenthusiastic applause as he carefully scans the student body from his perch, his eyes falling briefly on James - no, Harry - seated at the Gryffindor table, looking back up at him. Nearby is the girl with shocking orange hair, and it takes Remus a breath to remember that no, Lily’s hair was far more red. This was Ginny Weasley, Molly and Arthur’s daughter. He had met her on the train. Harry’s friend, Ron, has a rat poking its nose out of the pocket it’s sitting in, adding Peter to the picture. Now the only one they’re missing is Sirius, and Remus already knows Sirius is on his way.

The castle is filled to the brim with memories. It’s so easy to get lost, even if he knows the castle better than nearly anyone. He is at once upset and relieved that his living quarters are so far from Gryffindor Tower; he itches to see it again, but he also knows that doing so would be a terrible idea. The halls are hard enough.

The sun rises the same: pale yellow and streaking through the window. He lays in bed a few minutes every morning he can spare it, straining his ears for Peter’s snores, James’s sleep-talking, Sirius’s odd scruffy noises. It’s always silent, every morning. He waits, body heavy and tense, practically praying for a pillow to smack him in the face or a body to bounce on his bed in an effort to wake him. He waits until his heart aches, and then he sits up, alone in his small, sparse room, the reality for most of his life, even if it’s not what he remembers best.

Meals in the Great Hall can be like a dip in the pensieve, his older self watching Harry, forgetting that he’s not watching James. As he sips his morning coffee at the teacher’s table, he keeps expecting three more boys to burst in, the young men complaining about homework or asking about James’s quidditch practice or pouring over a piece of parchment. There are long stretches of time where Remus does very well, but every now and then, he forgets the year. On those days, he’s glad professors have a different entrance into the Great Hall, otherwise he might’ve walked straight to his old spot at the Gryffindor table.

Lesson plans are like laying out pranks, in their own funny way: know your targets, know what you can get away with, and make it as interesting as possible. Remus remembers what it was like, taking notes for hours and falling asleep during lectures, and vows that no one will ever doze off in his class if he can help it. Practical lessons are very important to him, and he makes an effort to include as many as he can; he is well-versed at what a teenager is capable of when they’re given the chance to develop their magic. Simmering beneath the surface is also an intense need to teach his students how not to be afraid. He has lived in fear of Dark magic for as long as he can remember, and it is impossible for him to get away. He knows what it is to live one’s days cowering, and if he is going to teach these kids how to defend themselves against danger, he also intends to teach them how to face it with courage.

At night, his desk and floor are covered in parchment, diagrams and doodles and writing everywhere, arrows scribbled and words circled and unnecessary exclamation points that he is fairly certain he didn’t write, but he’s not sure. Only one of them used exclamation points with that much abandon, and Remus doesn’t want to think about him. Every now and then, he swears he sees a map of Ravenclaw tower or the dungeons slipped between in his notes, but they always disappear before he can get his hands on it.

Classrooms are fascinating as a professor: on this side, he’s in charge, and he can dole out detentions and play with House points as much as he wants, though he’s much more interested in positive reinforcement than punishment. His first class, he sets his briefcase on the table and pauses as his eyes settle on the inscription on the side: Professor R. J. Lupin.

“For our future professor,” James grins, a beaming Lily at his side. They’re all in matching graduation robes.

“There’s no way you wouldn’t be hired,” Peter says, bouncing a bit on the balls of his toes, elated that their gift doesn’t have to be a secret anymore. “You’re a brilliant teacher.”

Remus is flushing pink, his hands running over the smooth leather. Him, a Hogwarts professor?

Sirius throws his arm around Remus and holds him tight, letting out of that laugh of his. “Can’t wait to see how many detentions you give out, Professor.”

Professor.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley?”

He looks up from his desk and sees a pair of twins grinning sheepishly at him. They remind him strongly of the Prewetts for obvious reasons, but the matching grins on their faces, oh, those they must have inherited from a distant Black second cousin of theirs.

“Misters Weasley,” Remus corrects himself.

“We know you can’t be lenient,” starts Fred, “since you’re a professor and all - “

“A man of authority,” George adds, thumping his chest.

“And you can’t really go back on your punishments,” Fred continues, “but, I dunno if you know this, but Gryffindor’s got our match against Slytherin soon, and Wood’s been going mad - “

“Bonkers, honestly, you should see him - ”

“And while we’re not asking you to cancel our detentions, even though that’d be brilliant - “

“We _were_ wondering if perhaps you’d reschedule them for Wednesday instead of Thursday, just to help the team out.”

“And save Wood’s sanity. He might come barging into your office if you don’t.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Remus answers, raising an amused eyebrow. “You do realize how inappropriate it is to have my desk drawers sing drinking songs when I open them during class.”

“But you got rid of it so quickly,” Peter points out, and James nods furiously from the desk he’s sitting on.

“C’mon, Moony, I know you’re a prefect and all, but just this once?” James begs. “How were we supposed to know that the new DADA professor was going to faint?”

“I honestly thought Minnow’d be made of much stronger stuff,” Peter muses.

“It’s Professor Minlow,” Remus corrects automatically.

“Do you want to be responsible for James’s untimely death by quidditch team mutiny?” Sirius says, perched on Binn’s desk. “I know you wanna live up to the badge and all, but he’s not asking to get out of detention. Just to have it moved.” He shoots Remus that grin of his, and Remus knows instinctively that he’s going to cave in. “C’mon, Moony, switch it to Wednesday. Minlow’s terrified of you; if you asked him to do it, you know he would.”  
  
Remus sighs. “Fine. Wednesday, but I’m tacking on an extra half hour.”

“Brilliant, thanks Professor,” George beams, and Fred seizes Remus’s hand to shake it vigorously.

“I hope you get to keep this job for more than a year,” Fred says over his shoulder as they run out, and George shoves a thumbs up in the air in agreement.

Things are just starting to settle for Remus when Halloween rolls around. There is the familiar ache of an approaching full moon in his joints and the familiar ache of loss in his bones, but he resolves to ignore both. Deep down, he knows it’s futile, but Remus will be damned if he doesn’t try.

Halloween is on a Sunday, so he doesn’t have the benefit of classes to distract him. He is lucky enough, however, to get a tank of grindylow delivered that morning, and he spends half an hour watching it and developing a lesson plan in his office before he sees James walk by his open office door.

For a wild moment, Remus is thirteen, and he rushes to the door, his heart in his throat. He pokes his head out of door just as as another name hits him: “Harry?”

As he invites Harry into his office, it strikes Remus, not for the first time, just how much the boy looks like James. He switches into teacher mode, determined to cut off any chance of brooding in front of Harry. Luckily, curiosity draws Harry to the grindylow on his desk, and Remus is glad for the opportunity to tell him about it. As soon that subject is exhausted, Remus keeps his hands busy a little longer preparing tea as he finishes settling into the conversation. It’s easy to talk and joke with Harry; Harry has James’s features and Lily’s expressions and it makes Remus feel like he’s sitting with an old friend. Not even Snape ‘conveniently’ appearing with his Wolfsbane Potion spoils their meeting, and as Harry leaves his office, Remus’s heart feels lighter. He can handle today. It will be fine.

He passes the statue of the one-eyed witch on his way to the Halloween feast that night, and he pauses a moment to place a hand on it, the spell on the tip of his tongue.

Dissendium, he thinks. He has never forgotten that spell.

“How did you figure out that’s what opened the hump?” Peter asks him, pudgy and eleven as he watches Remus climb the statue. “It’s so random.”

“I didn’t, Sirius did,” Remus pants, hanging from the witch’s head with both arms. His legs are scrambling for purchase. “He told me a couple weeks ago.” He glances at Peter. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” says Peter, and Remus doesn’t much like the tone in his voice. “Sirius doesn’t tell me anything. Neither does James.” Peter looks down at the floor, his face pink. “You’re the only one that talks to me.”

Something in Remus aches, and then hardens. “They’ll talk to you,” Remus says lightly, dropping back to his feet to try another path to the open hump. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He did make sure of it. It only took a few weeks for the other boys to warm up to Peter, and by the end of the year they were thick as thieves. It was a decision Remus sometimes regrets, especially around this time of year. After all, if Peter hadn’t been their friend, Sirius might have never noticed him, and maybe Peter would still be alive.

The corridors are mostly empty, most of the castle’s inhabitants already in the Great Hall. Remus’s feet take the long way there without him even realizing it, busy as he is trying to convince himself he’s looking forward to the feast. He hears the distant scuffle of shoes on stone as he makes his way through the Transfiguration corridor, and a door closes behind him.

“This was the surprise?”

“Aw, c’mon Moony, you know you’ve always wanted to snog on McGonagall’s desk.”

“Sirius, she would kill us if she found out.”

“Everyone’s in the Great Hall, we have plenty of time…”

Remus presses on, having no desire to eavesdrop on the voices coming from Transfiguration classroom. As he goes down a spiral staircase to the ground floor, he hears the metallic clang of a bucket and a girl’s giggle come from the broom cupboard beneath him. He pauses and looks down at the step he’s on, raising an eyebrow. He knows what those sounds mean.

“James - James!” There is a muffled shriek, followed by another giggle. “Merlin, James, we - we’re supposed to be doing our rounds - “

“Five more minutes? C’mon, Lily, I bet no one even notices we’re gone.”

There is silence, and then a laugh.

“Two more minutes.”

Remus knows he should be responsible and break them up, but instead he keeps going. The closer he gets to the Great Hall, the faster his heart beats, and he wipes his sweaty hands on his robes. As he enters, trailing behind a pack of sixth years, he is struck with how much the decorations haven’t changed. For a moment he’s glued in place, his eyes wide, a strange homesickness throbbing in his heart.

Then Remus stumbles as someone bumps into him.

“Sorry, Remus!” Peter says, rushing to their usual spot at the Gryffindor table. James (Harry?) is already there, waving them over.

“Ah, Pete,” Sirius muses, throwing an arm over Remus’s shoulder. “What are we going to do with him? Well, at least he spiked the pudding already.” Sirius gently hits Remus’s upper arm and turns to him, grinning ear to ear. “Excited for our fourth annual Halloween Prank?”

“We need to give it a better name,” Remus murmurs, watching the pumpkins float lazily in the air above them.

“Let us know when you’ve got one,” Sirius says, and lets go of Remus, heading for the table.

No one gives Remus a second glance as he walks to the staff table, and he spends the feast struggling to swallow as he chats merrily with the other professors, grateful for every instant they can entertain him. It’s a quiet enough feast, and Remus doesn’t know if he likes it; he has never known a Halloween at Hogwarts without a ruckus, and it feels unnatural. James and Sirius would never stand for this, Remus thinks before he can stop himself, Sirius, especially. Sirius would do something, anything, to make Halloween memorable.

“What kind of person would I be, Moony, if I didn’t make Halloween exciting? I refuse to have a boring Halloween. I refuse.”

Not this year, Remus thinks, almost defiantly. You can’t do anything about it this year.

It never takes long for word to spread at Hogwarts, and for once, it’s a story Remus believes without question. He runs to Gryffindor Tower without a second thought; his feet take him there automatically. The blood in his veins runs cold as he sees the gashes cutting through the Fat Lady’s portrait, and when Peeves speaks the name Sirius Black, it feels like someone’s punched him in the gut.

Of course, Remus thinks, standing in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room for the first time since he’s arrived. It hurts to stand here, to not go inside, to see the welcoming portrait torn into pieces. Of course Sirius had to make his mark on Halloween, and of course, it was here. The place they had always felt safest. The place that had been their home.

Remus knows it’s ridiculous, but he can’t shake the feeling that he had dared Sirius to do that, just by thinking about it. Snape’s suspicious looks only add to his guilt. That night as he does his patrols he contemplates telling Dumbledore about the secret passageways and about Sirius’s animagus abilities, but he does nothing. There is too much to that story he doesn’t want to tell, and so instead, he convinces himself that Sirius must have used Dark magic to break into the castle. Sirius had already done the impossible and broken out of Azkaban, surely with Dark magic, so why wouldn’t this be the same?  
  
It’s a long night, and for the first time in years Remus desperately wishes he had the Marauder’s Map. Instead, his eyes scan the floors, looking for black dog hairs. He does his best to check the hidden passageways without anyone spotting him, and he manages this with success, albeit with much stress.

The one-eyed witch: check. It’s a tough squeeze, but there’s no sign of Sirius hiding in there.

The statue of Gregory the Smarmy: check.

Three more passageways: check, check, check, although he nearly ran into Filch in one of them.

The mirror on the fourth floor stops him, startled as he is by his reflection. The premature lines always surprise him, though he has long since grown used to the grey hairs. And have the bags under his eyes always been that dark? Is it the approaching full moon, or is it something else?

“I think you’re gorgeous, Moony,” Sirius murmurs into his ear before planting a kiss on his temple. Remus jumps, surprised. “All of you. Even those huge pieces of luggage under your eyes.”

“Gee, thanks,” Remus mumbles, pulling gently at his cheeks and watching how his reflection changes. “Ugh, I’m eighteen and I look like an old man.”

Sirius leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Nonsense. You look like a eighteen year old that doesn’t sleep. Now come on, Moony, Filch is coming this way and I am determined to make sure you don’t sleep much tonight, either.”

“You’re good at that,” Remus sheepishly agrees, and he moves the mirror, aiming to hop into the passageway.

Remus is surprised to see it’s completely caved in, and for a moment he just stares at it. When did that happen? How? It had been huge, positively massive, and one of their favorite passageways: it could fit nearly anything they could think of, and was the perfect place to sneak away to practice spells or to sn-

Remus clears his throat and puts the mirror back in its place. He’s irritated to see that his face is flushing, and as he continues down the corridor, he tries to will his heart to stop pounding.

For the next few days, the castle is filled with Sirius’s name. Remus plasters on his usual smile like his life depends on it, bottling up his anxiety and shoving it firmly away. He is fairly certain no one notices how he glances at every shadow as he moves through the halls, half-expecting to see a large black dog hiding in it.

The full moon passes quietly. Even with the Wolfsbane Potion, the transformation still hurts, but he prepares his office with several strong silencing charms, and while there is still a fierce, trembling, burning energy ripping through him, he is able to control it. It’s lonely, padding in circles around his office, and not for the first time, he yearns for one of his old packmates. At least this time, instead of ripping at his limbs, he just curls up under his desk and falls asleep. He dreams of the Forbidden Forest, of the crisp night air and of stretching his limbs and of the strong familiar scent of a large black dog. When Remus comes to the next morning, he can still smell it, and he jolts up, looking around wildly. He’s sure he spots black dog hairs on his clothes, but they disappear before he can get a better look.

It’s just a memory, he tells himself. That’s all it is.

A lot happens while he’s recovering. He learns in an emergency staff meeting that dementors invaded a Quidditch game, causing Harry to fall off his broom. There is a sick swooping feeling in Remus’s stomach at the news, and a vision of James in his coffin appears in mind’s eye, only this time there is a lightning bolt scar above the glasses.

Remus, who visits the Hospital Wing frequently after full moons for potions, takes the opportunity to check on Harry. Harry’s asleep, but that doesn’t matter. He stays only a moment, staring at Harry, desperately grateful that he’s all right.

“Course he’ll be all right, he’s Prongs,” Sirius says confidently, though his face is white as a sheet. “You’ll see. If Pomfrey can patch you up every month for five years, this’ll be a piece a cake.”

“He fell nearly fifty feet,” Remus replies in a tight voice.

Sirius swallows and looks back down at their sleeping friend.

“He’ll outlive us all,” Sirius says at last. “A hundred percent. So don’t go around thinking a measly Quidditch injury’s going to take him out. He still hasn’t even snogged his redhead yet.”

A day later, thanks to a crowd of disgruntled third years, Remus discovers Snape had skipped ahead and assigned them an essay on werewolves. Remus knows exactly why and feels fifteen again, waiting for someone to finally believe Snape as he cries wolf. Remus easily smothers the stab of fear shooting through him and brings everyone’s attention to the hinkypunk he brought to class.

Remus keeps Harry after class for a chat, and he knows before he even asks that Harry loved his broom. Remus feels responsible for the broom’s demise - after all, the tree wouldn’t be there if he had never attended Hogwarts - but there isn’t much he can do; he doesn’t have the skill to repair it or the money to replace it. He wouldn’t even have a good excuse to try, as it would just look like unwarranted favoritism. Professors don’t buy students new brooms, especially professors with robes as shabby as his.

Harry brings up the dementors again, and Remus’s chest tightens. Dementors have haunted his dreams for years, and he suspects he knows more about them than most, even if he has always had difficulty fighting them. It’s hard not to research them when the person you had once loved most in the world is being guarded by them day and night.

Remus hates dementors. He hates how they suck joy and hope and everything good out of a person and feed on the despair that’s left. He hates how familiar that description is to him, even though he’s never stepped foot in Azkaban. Most of all, Remus hates how, no matter how angry he is at Sirius, no matter how much it hurts knowing that Sirius had thrown everything away without hesitation, and no matter how many dishes and glasses and mugs he throws at the wall, he can’t stand the thought of the Sirius he had known being eaten alive.

It’s a given that the memories Harry relives when facing a dementor are terrible, but it frightens Remus to learn that Harry hears Voldemort murdering Lily. He nearly takes Harry’s shoulder before he remembers that Harry doesn’t know that he had once known her. It is a blow, knowing that Harry, somehow, still holds Lily’s last moments within him, and Remus viciously pushes those emotions away, unwilling to look at them. He still remembers her voice; he doesn’t want to think about her screaming. He is just getting a hold of himself again when Harry brings Sirius up, and Remus falters, hating himself for letting Sirius get to him. He is just aware enough to remember to call Sirius by his surname.

Remus gives himself two months to prepare himself for Harry’s Patronus lessons. He is not lying when he tells Harry he has a lot to do before the holidays; the workload required of the fifth, sixth, and seventh years is massive, and while he occasionally feels guilty for giving them so much to do, he figures he pays for it in the hours he spends grading their work. It takes him five hours just to get through the essays he gave the sixth years the week before, and halfway through he leans over the desk, his forehead in his hand, his brain throbbing uncomfortably in his skull.

“You work too hard, Remus,” Sirius says, sliding his hands over Remus’s shoulders. Sirius massages them slowly and Remus closes his eyes, allowing himself this small pleasure.

“I have to get this done by tomorrow,” Remus sighs, blearily looking at the piles of parchment around him. His hand drops onto his desk as if made of stone.

“And you have to take care of yourself after the full moon,” Sirius responds. He switches to running his fingertips up and down the sides of Remus’s neck, and Remus shivers, his eyes sliding back shut. “I know you’ve got a lot to do, but Merlin, you need to be careful.”

“It’s literally always before or after a full moon, it’s a cycle, that’s how it works,” Remus groans. “Either way, I still have NEWTs. As if they even matter,” he adds, grumbling.

Sirius sighs before leaning in to press his lips softly against Remus’s jaw. Remus’s eyes shoot open and he turns, his skin tingling. His office is as empty as it ever was, and Remus sits silently for a minute, waiting for his heartrate to go down, before turning back to the next essay.

Remus hasn’t made it a habit to go down to Hogsmeade, and the Christmas trip is no different from the others. He tells himself it’s because he has work to do, deliveries to receive, and homework to grade, but he’s not being entirely honest. Hogsmeade is likely as full of memories as Hogwarts, and Remus refuses to face more ghosts than necessary. He also worries about the risk of running into a particular dog on the street. What would he do if that happened? Would he attack? Let the others know? Let him pass? Remus honestly has no idea, and he is not keen to find out.

The rest of term flies by, and Remus dedicates himself to his job as much as he is able. The Christmas decorations are a bit different from when he was younger, but it still puts him in an odd mood. He has had precious few Christmas celebrations over the past decade, and had believed he had finally started to become indifferent to the holiday. Being at Hogwarts, however, brings back a flood of nostalgia and obliterates whatever progress he has made. It’s hard to not feel the holiday spirit, even if, every now and then, a pang of mourning accompanies it.

It occurs to Remus just how much snogging happened the Christmas of his seventh year, because every time he passes one of their old haunts he instinctively looks up to see if there’s any mistletoe still hanging there. It’s a sick little jolt the first time it happens - Charms corridor, beside the column, he remembers it was after dark and that was the first time Sirius nibbled his lip, and oh Merlin that had felt - but the more often it happens, the more he simply falls into the memory, ignoring the guilt that comes with it. He remembers Sirius’s hands slipping under his shirt in one of the dungeons, murmuring about needing to share body heat. He remembers Sirius pinning him against greenhouse five, and the way he felt like he might explode when Sirius pressed his leg between Remus’s thighs. He remembers the taste of Sirius’s neck as they took advantage of an empty Owlery. They are all memories he had fought to forget, but now that they are here again, he sees no point in resisting. The moment he turns away from one, he faces another.

As he approaches the Great Hall for dinner the last night before the Christmas break, he looks up, searching for mistletoe exactly four feet to the left of the entrance. It’s not there, but it doesn’t matter.

“Moooony,” Sirius crows, wrapping his arms around Remus’s middle from behind. A warmth fills Remus, and he turns to look at Sirius, smiling fondly.

“We’re supposed to be getting cake,” Remus reminds him. “You know, three in the morning cake, not to be confused with two in the morning pie.”

“Yeah yeah, that can wait,” Sirius says, waving the thought off with a hand before snaking his arm back around Remus. He nods up. “We’re under mistletoe.”

“We are,” Remus agrees, amused.

“And you know what you’re supposed to do under mistletoe,” Sirius continues, eyes dancing.

“Actually, I’m afraid I don’t remember,” Remus replies, pulling away just enough so that he can turn and face Sirius. His arms wrap around Sirius, an innocent look on his face. “What are you supposed to do?”

A wicked little grin crossed Sirius’s features. “You don’t remember?” Sirius leans in, his lips ghosting Remus’s. “And here I thought you were doing so well with your lessons.”

“Guess you’ll just have to show me again,” Remus murmurs, closing the distance between them.

“I simply must show you, Professor Lupin!”

Remus visibly starts, his face bright red as he whips around and sees a very eager Professor Trelawney trotting up like some sort of oversized, glittering butterfly.

“S-show me what, Professor?”

“I haven’t done your crystal ball reading, my dear, and my Inner Eye is telling me that it’s of the utmost importance that I do!” She peers at him with a strange expression, her eyes magnified comically by her glasses. “I sense there is a dark secret looming over you, and if you are not careful, it might - ”

“I forgot my - I just remembered I left the salamander tank open and if I don’t close it now I might not have an office to go back to,” Remus interrupts, lying through his teeth. “I’ll see you later, Professor.” And without giving her an opportunity to say another word, Remus turns right back around and hurries back to his office, resolving to get dinner from the kitchens later. His face is glowing the entire walk back, and he curses himself for letting himself get carried away by Sirius Black. He had thought he was over that.

Christmas break isn’t as relaxing as it could be; he spends much of it grading, planning lessons, and feeling like shit. He takes advantage of the lack of classes to sleep in as much as he can, but his dreams leave him feeling unrested, filled as they are with roaming hands and flashing eyes and rough bites pressing into skin. Three days before the full moon he asks Pomfrey for potions for dreamless sleep, and she provides them with a concerned look Remus brushes aside. It’s common to have difficulty sleeping before the full moon, he reminds her.

When McGonagall mentions her suspicion that Sirius has sent Harry a broomstick for Christmas, a stubborn nausea settles in Remus. How did Sirius know that Harry had lost his broom? Where did he get the money? He has no answers, and is very glad Hermione had the foresight to warn the staff about it.

Remus leaves the castle once during the break on New Year’s Eve. He stops by his father’s cottage for tea, which is something of a relief. It’s normal and familiar, and for once Remus doesn’t have to worry about old memories sneaking up on him. His father’s questions give him the chance to talk about his students and his classes with a light heart, and Remus wonders how much of the weight he carries is from memories and how much of it is from the dementors. For the first time, Remus is able to fully appreciate just how much he loves his job, and he hopes this feeling won’t disappear once he gets back to Hogwarts.

After he leaves his father’s cottage, he reconsiders his original plans, but in the end, he follows through anyway, aware they might spoil his mood. Godric’s Hollow is covered in day-old snow that’s dirty brown and melting in places, and it seeps uncomfortably into Remus’s shoes. By the time he reaches James and Lily’s grave, his feet are blocks of ice, but he doesn’t care.

It’s hard to say how much time Remus spends standing before them, his heart trying its best to beat through the hand clutched around it. He knows that if there is a place to remember them, this would be it, but nothing comes to him. There is nothing but death in a graveyard, and he cannot imagine his best friends alive and happy when they are rotting away beneath him. This was not their home. All they left here was their bones. Still, he stands there, staring at their names until they blur, his body tense as he struggles to quiet the grief threatening to tear out of him.

“Harry’s just like you,” he finally manages, his voice hoarse. “He looks exactly like you, Prongs, it’s almost scary. Except he’s got your eyes, Lily, which makes sense, doesn’t it, considering he sees the world the same way you did.”

Everything hurts, and he bows his head, thinking, not for the first time, that none of this should have happened.

“I’ll protect Harry,” Remus promises fiercely. “I won’t let Sirius near him. He won’t take Harry, too.”

After a brief look around, Remus Disapparates with a crack for his next destination: Cornwall. Peter is buried beside his father, a fact that Remus understands but never really agreed with. There is no snow here, and the graves have small tufts of green grass doing their best to survive the cold.

“You deserved better,” Remus says as he stands before Peter. “You deserved a better tombstone, a better funeral. A better end. Better friends.”

He takes a deep breath, discovering this place, too, is devoid of any echo. There is an emptiness in his chest and a lump in his throat, and he swallows hard.

“He’s coming, Pete. He’s coming fast, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how you faced him, knowing what he did.” Remus lets out a shaky sigh, rubbing his face with a hand. “I don’t know how I’ll face him, knowing what he did. What he wants to do.”

A gust of cold wind bites into him, and Remus draws his coat in tighter. “I promised Prongs and Lily, and I’ll promise you, too. I won’t let Sirius get away with this. He won’t.”

It’s difficult, going back to Hogwarts. The dementors guarding the castle always linger around Remus as he enters the grounds, and a familiar weight settles on him as he steps into the entrance hall. His friends may not be at their graves, but they are here, steeped into the castle’s foundations, and he knows he cannot get away.

Remus is still exhausted when the term starts, but there’s not much he can do about it. Instead, he throws himself back into the work, determined to regain that feeling he had had in his father’s cottage. The Tuesday before Harry’s Patronus lesson, Remus spends the evening scouring the castle for a boggart, knowing there has to be one around. There’s always a boggart in this castle, he thinks as he pokes his head into an empty classroom. The number of times they’d run into them on accident…

“What d’you reckon’s in here?” Sirius says, peering at a cupboard near the back of the room. He is twelve and curious and already thriving on breaking the rules. The only hint that there is anything in the cupboard at all comes from its doors, which quiver periodically.

“I am not touching that,” Peter said, backing away close to James.

“You gonna open it, Sirius?” James asks, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. Remus hovers halfway between them, unsure if Sirius should but still vaguely curious as to what was hiding.

“Might just.” Sirius pokes the doors with his wand and they fly open with a much louder bang than any of them expected, causing them all to jump back. Sirius stares in horror as a woman steps out of the cupboard, her grey eyes glittering with malice, and Remus wracks his brain, trying to identify her. He knows her face, but who is she? And why was she in the cupboard in the first place?

“Pathetic excuse for an heir,” the woman drawls, looming towards Sirius. “You will listen to me, you ungrateful brat. Now get away from that disgusting filth before I make you.” She raises her wand at Sirius, who is frozen in place, and Remus, who doesn’t know what else to do, rushes forward and jumps between them. Remus stares as the woman transforms into a full moon, and his eyes grow wide. He should never be able to see a full moon; a full moon means -

Remus starts to shake, terrified he’s going to start transforming right then and there. His eyes fly down to his hands, expecting fur to start sprouting at any moment, and his heart pounds as he drowns in his overwhelming panic. Next thing he knows, he is falling and landing on Sirius’s arm, utterly bewildered. As he scrambles up, rubbing the arm that slammed into Sirius’s, he sees James and Peter standing in front of them. The moon has disappeared, and in its place there is half a slug.

“What are you afraid of, Pete?” James asks, frowning at Peter.

“Ah, uh, headless corpses?” Peter manages, pink. “You know Nearly Headless Nick gives me the heebie jeebies.”

James blinks, surprised. “He does? Why?”

“I just - your head, it should be - ” Peter motions vaguely at his neck before dropping his hand and looking back at the slug half. “Are you scared of...of slugs?”

“Flesh-eating ones,”James specifies defensively, his turn to go pink. “Not the normal ones.”

“What was that?” Remus asks, his eyes wide.

There is a loud yell from down the corridor, and Remus takes his head out of the empty classroom just in time to see Filch run out of his office.

“Pro-professor!” Filch cries, skidding to a stop in front of Remus. Remus is surprised; usually, Filch does his absolutely best to undermine Remus. In fact, Remus is fairly certain Filch hasn’t called him professor once before now. “There’s a - a - a _thingI_ in the filing cabinet - ”

Fervently hoping it’s a boggart, Remus takes out his wand and heads for Filch’s office. It’s exactly as Remus remembers it, only with more filing cabinets, which is strangely funny to him. He looks around for the source of Filch’s panic and sees a particularly old cabinet shake viciously once before settling. Remus grins.

Remus starts their first lesson with low expectations. While he suspects Harry’s a relatively fast learner, this is an incredibly advanced spell and Harry is facing a very traumatizing fear. His expectations change when Harry produces a silvery wisp, however, and Remus can’t help but suggest Harry try out the boggart. It’s clear that Harry would learn this spell faster than he did. No surprise, considering how powerful his parents had been.

Harry passes out almost right away. Remus is prepared for it and catches Harry before he hits the floor. By the time Harry comes to, the boggart is back in the packing case and Remus has a chocolate frog ready. He anticipates Harry’s disappointment, but the news that Lily’s voice has grown stronger and is now also accompanied by Voldemort’s unsettles him. The blood drains out of Remus’s face and he immediately suggests they stop, but Harry is as stubborn as his parents, and against Remus’s better judgement, they try again.

No one has ever known exactly what happened when James and Lily died, but as Harry recounts what he heard, Remus has no trouble visualizing it. James, 21 years old and in his prime, facing Voldemort by himself in an effort to save Lily and his son… Remus expected nothing less from James, but it’s still a shock to hear, to know. And to hear it from Harry, who had been only a year old when it happened...

Remus is grateful that Harry doesn’t look at him right away; it’s enough of a struggle to control his voice, let alone his expression. Remus is struck speechless in the face of Harry’s question - “You didn’t know my dad, did you?” - and he considers lying for all of a heartbeat. But no, he won’t insult James’s memory like that, and so Remus settles with a quick affirmation, making sure there is no space for Harry to ask any further questions.

Harry insists on one last try, and Remus, who had always had trouble saying no to any of the Potters, relents. This time, Harry has much more success in staving off the boggart dementor, and Remus is relieved and elated. His relief is short-lived, however, as Harry brings up the last person Remus wants to hear about.

There is a visceral reaction to Sirius’s name, and Remus’s response is as sharp as the stab of fear and shame shooting through him. It’s a small help that Harry doesn’t seem to suspect anything, but Remus ends the lesson quickly anyway. No one had known about his relationship with Sirius save their closest friends, but it still made Remus feel like an accomplice, somehow. Someone to be suspicious of, even if Remus isn’t sure if he did anything other than love the wrong person.

Sirius keeps a low profile for the next few weeks, and Remus is grateful. His mood improves as best it can, and he even finds the spirit pick Harry up some butterbeer as a special treat. It will be difficult, visiting the village, but he’s sure it’ll be worth it. He’s been missing the taste of butterbeer, anyhow.

As Remus heads out into the courtyard Wednesday early evening, a snowy wind hits him in the face, and he inwardly curses himself for forgetting his scarf.

“You’re sick enough around the full moon without adding to it,” Sirius scowls, looping his Gryffindor scarf around a sixteen year old Remus’s neck.

Remus stammers nonsense, his face as red as the fabric he’s wrapped in. It smells like a funny mix of spice and dog, and it’s alarmingly comforting. “I - but -”

“It’s fine,” Sirius insists, tucking the ends into Remus’s robes. Remus hopes Sirius doesn’t notice how hard his heart is pounding. “Now come on, I bet Prongs and Wormtail are already halfway to Zonko’s.”

Face growing warm, Remus stuffs his hands in his pockets and lowers his face against the wind, seriously considering using one of their old passageways back just to avoid the weather. It’s just as freezing in the village despite the cover the buildings provide, and Remus heads straight for the Three Broomsticks, determined to avoid the other shops.

It’s blissfully warm inside the pub, and the sudden temperature change makes Remus’s skin burn. Rosmerta has changed the layout since he’s last visited, but otherwise it feels exactly as it had in 1978. Remus is profoundly grateful that it’s nearly empty; it already feels like he’s stepped into an alternate reality without feeling old on top of it all.

“Hello, Rosmerta,” Remus says with a small smile as he approaches the bar. Rosmerta blinks and smiles back, and it’s clear she doesn’t recognize him.

“Hello there, yourself, love,” she answers, wiping one last spot on the bar before tossing her rag aside. “What can I do for you?”

“Two bottles of butterbeer,” Remus orders politely. “To go, please.”

“Coming right up,” she says with a wink.

As she fetches his order, Remus steps back and ruffles his hair, trying to loosen the snow that gathered in it during his walk. Should he order something else, while he’s already here?

“Just talk to her, c’mon, Remus, you know you’re her favorite,” Sirius whispers, elbowing Remus at their table. They’re seventh years, and having trouble not constantly touching each other. “If she’s going to give anyone firewhiskey, it’ll be you.”

“You’re mad, you know she likes you and James best,” Remus mumbles, sinking into his pint of butterbeer with a pink face. As an apology for his cowardice, Remus runs the toe of his shoe up Sirius’s calf, and Sirius grins.

“Okay, fine, probably,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes, “but _you_ are the most responsible, so she’ll trust you the most with it.” Sirius discreetly moves so the back of his hand can gently rub against Remus’s arm. He leans in to whisper in Remus’s ear. “I bet...I bet the next round, she’ll give it to you if you ask.”

“That’s a load of -” Remus splutters, and he has to resist the urge to grab Sirius’s wrist and tug him in for a rough snog. “I bet she doesn’t even remember my name, she just remembers - ”

“Wait, you were friends with Potter and Black, weren’t you?” Rosmerta is back with his drinks and her eyes are filled with curiosity. Remus isn’t sure he much likes that look. “You were...you were the quiet one, right? Always a bit under the weather?”

“How much for the butterbeer?” Remus asks mildly, eying the two bottles on the bar.

“Four sickles,” Rosmerta replies with a small frown. “I’m sure I’ve seen you before. Oohh, I’m usually so much better with names, but remind me, what’s yours? Remy Luke? Remington Luther?”

“Remus Lupin,” Remus replies, placing his payment on the bar and taking a bottle in each hand. “Have a good evening, Rosmerta.”

“Remus Lupin...Wait, you _are_ \- !” Rosmerta gasps, but if she says anything else Remus never hears it. He takes the normal, frigid route to the castle, and when he dreams that night, he dreams of Sirius Black’s hands and lips warming him back up.

Remus wakes up the next morning with the distinct feeling that Sirius is circling him like a hunting dog, getting ever closer. He is seized with the urge to run, but instead he dresses and goes to breakfast, all too used to ignoring the need to jump out of his own skin. The paper greets him with word from the Ministry: the dementors of Azkaban have been authorized to Kiss Sirius Black upon his capture. Ice grips his heart as he imagines Sirius’s soul disappearing, all those laughs and kisses and grins vanishing with it, and it strikes him as quite possibly the most horrific decision they could have made. Even if none of what Sirius ever said to him was true, in the end, they were still eating _his_ jokes that had made Sirius laugh, _his_ kisses, _his_ touch, _his_ memories. They had happened to Sirius, from him. And they had at some point, Remus hopes, meant something to the man he had given them to.

Remus tries to remind himself that Sirius is a murderer, a liar, and the traitor responsible for the deaths of his three best friends, but it isn’t enough. It’s one thing to know someone has died. It is another to know that they have completely ceased to exist. For all the pain and suffering Sirius had caused, he had still inadvertently ended a war. And for all the grief and fear Sirius is causing now, Remus still can’t shake the memory of Sirius at his best, burning as bright as his namesake. Did he really deserve to blink out of the world like that, when he had once been a storm?

No one mentions the newspaper article to Remus directly, but he overhears the occasional chit chat when no one thinks he’s listening. Most of the school, however, is buzzing about the Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw match coming up, and Remus finds himself caught up in it. He feels like a student again when he goes to the Quidditch pitch for the first time that year to watch the match, and even though he maintains a professor’s decorum, inside he is whooping and hollering as much as he had as a teenager. Harry looks exactly like James on his broom, and he flies like James, too. Remus doesn’t even notice he’s muttering under his breath throughout the match, saying everything he would normally shout.

“Left - watch it, no, shit, the bludger, Potter, the bludger, pay attention - Merlin, get - yes, yes, come on you idiot fly faster -”

“POTTER, YOU BLEEDING IDIOT, WHY DID YOU?!” Sirius screams, dragging at his face with the palms of his hands. “FUCk, GO LEFT - YES, YES, YEEES!” Sirius jumps up and hugs Remus around the neck, shaking him in excitement, as Peter leads the chant beside them:

“GO GO GRYFFINDOR! GO GO GRYFFINDOR!”

A fierce wave of pride washes over him as Harry shoots his wispy patronus at what he clearly believes to be a dementor, and screams himself hoarse when Harry goes on to catch the snitch. Once the game’s officially over he runs onto the pitch without hesitation to congratulate Harry - and to help McGonagall deal with the Slytherin boys Harry had unwittingly attacked. That night, he and McGonagall share some firewhiskey in her office to celebrate, and as the two reminisce, a funny ache settles in his heart.

“It’s difficult, sometimes, to watch him fly,” McGonagall admits. “He looks so much like his father.”

“He does,” Remus says, looking into his glass. “It…” He hesitates, unsure of how to voice his thoughts without sounding crazy, but McGonagall seems to understand.

“Makes you forget the year, doesn’t it?” McGonagall hums in sad amusement before taking another sip of firewhiskey. “James would be so proud,” she sighs.

A lump forms in Remus’s throat, and he washes it down with his drink. “He’d also be amazed that I’m drinking firewhiskey with you in your office.”

McGonagall laughs. “It’s not like he never suggested it. The four of you even sent me a bottle after graduation.”

Something between a grin and a grimace crosses Remus’s lips, and he closes his eyes briefly to keep them from burning. “To replace your biscuit tin.”

There is a strange twitch in the corner of McGonagall’s smile, and she picks up the bottle of firewhiskey to look at the label. “You had excellent taste for teenagers, wouldn’t you agree?”

Remus turns to her, surprised, and he considers the bottle for the first time. “Is that…?”

Her face is stern, but there is a twinkle in McGonagall’s eye that Remus hasn’t seen in a long time. “You didn’t honestly think I’d offer it to students, did you?”

The alcohol burns in his stomach as he prepares for bed, and Remus wonders if he’ll be able to escape Sirius that night with their firewhiskey buzzing in his veins. The answer comes sooner than he expects: just as he’s finally dozing off, a house elf arrives with news that Sirius Black broke into Gryffindor Tower and attacked Harry’s friend Ron in his bed with a knife. The night is another long one of anxious patrols, of checking old familiar passageways, and of scanning the floors for dog hair. As ever, guilt keeps his mouth shut, and the next morning he finds it difficult to look Dumbledore and McGonagall in the eye.

The nightmares start up again. He dreams of James and Lily’s final moments, of each of them facing Voldemort on their own and falling. He dreams of a trembling, terrified Peter exploding into pieces, over and over again. He dreams of James’s lifeless body crumpled on the ground, of his hazel eyes staring blankly into nothing, of his hazel eyes turning almond-shaped and green. He dreams of Sirius with his dark, vicious smile standing over him, over James, over Harry, his teeth bared like a rabid dog’s.

“It’s your fault, Moony,” Sirius taunts him, his face twisted and cruel. “You wretched, worthless coward of a werewolf. You could’ve stopped this, if only you had a spine.”

Remus cannot stop being a coward, and he hates himself for it. He uses all the bravery he can muster to face the people around him; he has none left to face his secrets. Or so he thinks, for as usual, his old friends surprise him.

A peculiar feeling fills Remus as he sees Snape holding a parchment he never thought he’d see again. It’s as if someone has just punched him in the chest while giving him the best Christmas present he could’ve asked for. Harry, ever James’s son, reads Remus’s cues perfectly, and Remus falls naturally into his old role of talking a Potter out of trouble. Snape’s anger is so familiar it doesn’t even faze him. Snape has never trusted him, not when they were students and certainly not now, and Remus can’t blame him. Remus doesn’t trust himself, either.

As soon as they are out of Snape’s office his shame morphs into anger, and the nightmares replay in Remus’s mind as he walks Harry and Ron silently to the entrance hall. Terror, fury, and self-contempt swirl in him like smoke, and he curses himself for not making sure the map was someplace safe earlier in the year. What if Sirius had gotten a hold of it? How could he have been so stupid?

It takes everything Remus has to restrain himself when he rounds on Harry. The last thing he wants is to push Harry away, but damn it, he needs to understand, even if he can’t give Harry all the answers. Sometimes, he thinks, Harry is far too much like James, and for the first time, this petrifies him.

He wants to walk the grounds and clear his mind, but it’s too dangerous with the Marauder’s Map in his possession, so instead, he heads straight for his office. The map is locked away in Remus’s desk drawer as soon as he arrives, and for a month he pretends to forget it’s there. He’s not very successful; his checks that it’s still in his drawer every time he enters his office, and while he works its presence is like an itch he can’t scratch. Finally, after weeks of excuses, there is a good reason to look at the map: Hagrid’s hippogriff is to be executed that evening, and Remus is certain that Harry, Ron, and Hermione are going to sneak out to Hagrid’s hut before it happens.

His wand hovers over the map, and he discovers that the words are caught in his throat. He knows what to say, but he can’t seem to bring himself to say it.

“Fine, then I’ll say it,” says Sirius, pushing Remus aside and holding out his wand. Remus blinks, surprised. “I solemnly swear - ”

“Oi!” James shoves Sirius in his arm, and Remus immediately feels guilty. “This map wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“Well, Moony’s the one who’s not saying anything!” Sirius protests.

“Can I do it, then?” Peter asks, his eyes glued to the parchment. “If Moony’s not going to - ”

“No, we agreed,” James says firmly. “We made it together, but Moony was the one who came up with the idea in the first place. Moony should be the one to activate it first.”

The certainty of the proclamation stuns Remus - he hadn’t heard of any such agreement - but the others don’t question James. Instead, Peter groans, defeated, and Sirius sighs and turns to Remus. “Go on then,” he says, nodding at Remus. “Show us what this bad boy can do.”

Remus’s heart pounds, and he stares at the blank parchment, aware that years of work and countless sleepless nights went into the production of this map. Some of the best memories of his life are associated with the creation of this map. Some of the best people in the world helped him make it. And all it will take to see it again is to say nine words.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

The map springs to life, the castle appearing gradually as if being drawn by an invisible quill. A wave of nostalgia threatens to overwhelm Remus, and he swallows hard, waiting for the map to finish before looking for the names he seeks. As he waits he realizes that despite the risks, he is grateful that James’s son got to appreciate the masterpiece that is this map.

It doesn’t take long to spot Harry and his friends, and Remus watches as they enter Hagrid’s hut. He idly watches everyone else on the map as he waits for them to leave, the old curiosity easily piqued. There is Snape in the dungeons, likely preparing his Wolfsbane potion - despite their animosity, Remus is forever grateful for Snape’s adherence to that schedule - and there is Professor Sprout in Greenhouse Three. McGonagall is with Flitwick in the staff room; Filch and Mrs. Norris are in the North tower, likely skulking for any potential wrong-doers. Dumbledore is pacing his office, and it strikes Remus that Dumbledore used to do that when he was in school, too.

By the time the little dots that represent Harry, Ron, and Hermione move again, twenty minutes have passed. Remus glances at them, simply intending to make sure they made it to the castle all right, but as he watches them make their way he sees something he never expected to see. It hits him like brick, and for a moment he is dizzy with shock. He stares, aghast, and he tells himself he must be dreaming, or the map must be malfunctioning, but Remus knows inherently neither can be true.

There is a fourth name now.

Peter Pettigrew.

“It can’t be,” Remus says aloud, but he knows as he says it that it is. The map never lies. Peter Pettigrew is with Harry.

But _how_? How is that possible? Peter Pettigrew died twelve years before, he was blown into nothing, there were witnesses, all they ever found of him was a finger, buried now in Cornwall…

Remus watches, astonished, as another dot appears on the map, moving full speed towards Harry and Peter: Sirius Black. A wave of anger crashes into him and he stands up, wand sparking. How dare he even step onto these grounds? Remus knows he should be moving, bolting to get to Harry as quickly as possible, but he’s frozen in place, watching as the dots scuffle in place. Seconds pass and still Remus doesn’t move, terror now replacing his short-lived rage. He expects the worst, to see the Harry dot disappear and for guilt and shame to overwhelm him, but instead the Sirius dot drags the Ron and Peter dots towards the Whomping Willow, leaving the Harry and Hermione dots to chase after him.

Wha- what was that? Why did Sirius - ? Remus plants his hands on the desk and hovers over the map, a hurricane whirling in his mind. Peter is alive. Sirius is on Hogwarts grounds. Sirius had reached Harry, but instead of attacking Harry, he’s being chased by him. And on top of all this, Sirius is taking Peter and Ron to the Whomping Willow, which could only mean he aims to take them to the Shrieking Shack. Does Sirius know he has Peter? And why Ron? What does that boy have to do with anything? Sirius had attacked him earlier in the year, but why - ?

And then Remus remembers Ron owns a very old rat.

Doubt washes over Remus like a heavy rain, soaking him to the bone. He has spent the last twelve years looking for the signs he had missed, wondering what he had done wrong, asking himself how he could have been so blind as to trust in Sirius Black. He has spent the last year trying to run from Sirius, shamed by his inability to protect Harry with everything he has. And now, here he is, letting Sirius waltz over to his prize, except it looks like maybe Sirius’s prize wasn’t Harry after all.

Has Sirius been looking for Peter, all this time?

There is a ringing in Remus’s ears as he weighs his options, but deep down, he knows it’s no contest. It’s clear he has spent the last decade believing a lie. He needs to know what happened.

“Right,” Remus says, nodding curtly. He looks up at the doorway and exhales once before heading out, his wand gripped tightly in his hand.

He steels himself, knowing instinctively that this night will change his life. All his courage up to this point has gone into facing people, not his past. Well, not anymore. He’s going to get off his arse and do something for once, and finally face them both.


End file.
